


The Cold and the Dark

by DeadishScribe



Series: The Horatio Chronicles [1]
Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Abby Horatio (OC), Ekons, Fic Subject to Change, Henry Horatio (OC), Hot Cocoa, Lady Benton (OC), Lady Sola Benton (OC), Laurel Horatio (OC), Modern AU, Mortician, Multi, Newborn Ekon, Newborn Vampire, SUBJECT TO CHANGE, Simon Horatio (OC), Sola Benton (OC), Tags Subject to Change, The Horatios, Vampire Lady - Freeform, Vampires, Vampyr, Vampyr the game, all OCs - Freeform, all original characters - Freeform, cocoa, damn it good shit, morgue, no canon characters, progenitor, progeny
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2019-08-22 00:25:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16587173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadishScribe/pseuds/DeadishScribe
Summary: Set in the world of Vampyr, "The Cold and the Dark" starts a series focused on a young man by the name of Henry Horatio. He wakes up in a strange place, finding himself not the person he used to be, but something new altogether. This is the start of an incredible, horrible, spectacular adventure in the world of vampires and shadows.





	1. The Cold and the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> This is a modern Vampyr fic set in America. It has none of the canon characters, and instead all of my own OCs.
> 
> The canon and lore is pretty vague, so some things may be improvised that do not actually hold true to canon. I will, however, strive to avoid this at all costs.
> 
> With best wishes,  
> the author dude
> 
> p.s. the graphic violence is really about a few sentences, and isn't touched on a lot. The further the series go on, the more likely there is to be graphic content, but you generally don't have to worry about that for at least the next few stories.

**January 2 nd, 2018, 7:14 pm**

 

His eyes slammed open. The chill was leaking, setting into his bones, and yet it was somehow already there to begin with. His breathing was hard and heavy, almost unbearably so. It felt different, staler in a way. Henry had finally noticed his surrounding, or rather lack thereof, after taking stock of his physical form. Dark. Too dark. First one fist, then the other tapped on the shadow enveloping him. The ring of cold steel. Where the hell was he? He tried to stretch out his legs to no avail, they were blocked by the same coldness as the walls beside him. His feet rang out more rapidly now. One kick, two kicks, three kicks. It just got louder the longer he went on, not doing much in the ways of an escape. Fantastic, this was just absolutely, positively, fan-fucking-tastic. He could feel his mind running short on any logic, any reason. He wanted an out, he _needed_ an out. Why couldn’t this be like one of those escape rooms where you can press a button whenever you want and get the hell out? Would that have been so difficult? Whoever had brought him to wherever he was could have shown some basic decency. They drugged him, or at least he thought they had. Nothing else could explain how he couldn’t remember much of the past few minutes. Or was it hours? Days? That sent a shiver down his spine, redoubling his efforts to break whatever the fuck was holding him.

Wait, no. There was the sound of a latch being undone, the wall at the base of his feet opening suddenly in favor of a bright, almost entirely white light that may as well have burned his eyes. The sudden jerk backwards wasn’t appreciated either. The man must have seen a curled-up corpse, well, not-corpse, confused, afraid, and lost. Henry thoughts were passing too fast to truly process. Why was his mouth so _dry_? Why was his throat demanding to be quenched? Everything appeared blurry when he sat up, which he assumed was on account of him having been drugged. It didn’t go away. Instead the sensation stayed, if being blurred could be physical sensation. Dizziness wasn’t the right word. He felt too stable to have been dizzy. No, everything was out of focus, and surprisingly grey. It was almost what he had imagined what it was like to need glasses if one were entirely color blind. Whoever the hell had put him under was going to pay. He heard footsteps, sharp, piercing as they stumbled their way backwards, colliding into a wall. The noise caught his attention, and Henry was surprised when he found not more grey, but rather a figure in red. Not clothes, they definitely weren’t clothes. They glowed too much for that. Radiated would be a more appropriate term.

His body acted on its own volition. He found himself ambivalent about it, simply allowing it to carry him forward. Closer and closer to the red radiance, that delicious crimson. Upon closer inspection he had found the radiating figure was not solid, but outlined a solid form around rivers of red. He would have compared it to taking a closer look at the stars to find that the star in fact had planets. He would have if her weren’t so preoccupied. Words flowed from his mouth, and he was unable to stop them.

“Thirsty, so thirsty” he repeated. The figure clearly had no idea what he was talking about. He pleaded and begged for something, he couldn’t quite make it out. Henry didn’t care. What he did next would have shocked anyone in their right mind, and he would later come to find that he wished he were.

A scream cried out into the considerable room surrounding them. The sound of a man desperate to see his family one last time. The sound of a man who didn’t wish to die, not yet. The sound of a man who almost wished he had spent more time amongst the living. In a matter of moments, however, it was over. The process was complete, and the man before Henry crumpled into a heap upon the floor. Slowly, surely, he regained his sensed one by one. Once he was able to look down, see what he had done, his face curled into horror. A man was dead. This man. Wait, had _he_ done it? He couldn’t have, he knew he would never do such a thing. That was until he raised his hands into few. They were entirely soaked, as was his bare chest. He’d find his own nakedness mortifying under normal circumstances.

Instincts kicked in and he knelt to hold the man. Not like it would do any good, he was dead before he hit the tile. Henry looked his corpse over to find any form of identification, _John D. Smith_. He now knew the name of his first blood. His head swung around in a fury to find a something, anything to control what came next. He had barely made it to the nearest trash can, exceptionally large, that he leaned over to hurl the contents of his stomach. Except they never came. That didn’t stop his body unfortunately. Violent gags wracked his form as he desperately needed a release. Funny enough it wasn’t unlike being trapped in that drawer for dead people, he never knew what they were called. Action movies never cared to get into the dirty details. It took a few minutes, but his body finally gave up. No bile, no vomit, none of his barbeque rib sandwich he had for dinner. What time was it anyhow? Henry turned to the clock. The electronic numbers read _19:18._ Why was the clock reading a year over a century ago? No, hang on a second, that was standard military time. He wrangled the knowledge from his brain, remembering to subtract twelve to get the later day time. Nineteen, ok, what was nineteen minus twelve? Seven, so it was seven eighteen pm. That either meant that he had somehow traveled back in time or it was the next day. With everything that happened, he decided it was the next day in order to keep his sanity, what was left of it at least. He had to find a way out.

He turned on the balls of his feet, took a step, then gazed down to find the source of the unusual sensation around his toe, almost like a rubber band. It was a tag. Henry’s stomach churned as he knelt down, pulling the tag from beneath his right foot. It read his name in neat, precise letters, his date of birth and… _fuck_ , his time of death. He couldn’t have died, right? There was no way, he was up and walking. Shit like this just didn’t happen. He looked around once more in search of some sort of office, some semblance of order. The young man practically sprinted to the room built in the corner. He assumed that the large windows indicated something important, and he was right. A desk, chair, _computer._ Hold on, a recorder, an old-fashioned _tape_ recorder. He could’ve sworn these things were extinct. Going to sit, he stopped himself. Sure, he had killed the poor sod, he didn’t need to add insult to injury by sitting his bare ass down in his chair. These paper towels would have to do. Fortunately, the computer was already logged in, but he didn’t know where to start. Listening to the tape while he searched was always an option. Henry went to grab the recorder, stopped himself, then retracted his hand. A missing person’s report would be filed, and naturally they’d come to his place of work. The police would find the body, do prints, and they would easily find his. He couldn’t let the happen. Fortunate once again, there were gloves on the table just outside the office which were easy to don. The now late mortician must have been his size.

Now he was free to do some digging. The tape recorder went to the beginning of the current tape, or he guessed it had, and he went about digging through the files. Immediately it was certain who the report was for—him. Now he knew, without any doubt, that he really had _died._ Ok, that was true he supposed, he could accept that eventually, but coming back to life? No, it must’ve been a false report, that happened every so often. Except the farther he got in the recorded report, the more it was made abundantly clear that wasn’t the case. An explosion, a pretty bad one too, Christmas Eve, December 31st just like it had read on the tag. It had collapsed his chest cavity, danged sever organs, blown his ear drums, and much more. The injuries were truly mortal, though he wasn’t sure that term applied to him anymore. Plenty of movies and shows had the same story; a person is stuck with immortality, and they’re not sure how to undo it. He could always go off those.

For some reason the date didn’t register until that very moment, but the memories were coming back to him, that was all that mattered. He and his family had gone out to celebrate the New Year at some fancy restaurant. They could avoid most of the crowds because some old friend of dad had become super rich, so they got the VIP experience. They were all loving it. He had gone to get their third round of drink, more specifically non-alcoholic to avoid getting to drunk before the countdown. He was making his way back to their table, there was some loud burst of sound and air when, then nothing. Everything went dark and blank. Henry could recall nothing after that. Probably because he was dead. Really dead if everything was accurate, but when he felt his chest, everything felt fine in his totally non-medical, not professional opinion.

The digital report was much of the same with the addition of a few marked diagrams. He had to close them or else risk another gagging incident. What in the actual hell was going on? How could he feel entirely weakened, utterly fatigued with his entire being, yet feel some sort of new strength from deep within. That strength waivered when he looked at the computer’s date. It was the second of January, the year they were supposed to have celebrated. Days, it had been _days_ since he died. He had to take a deep breath, settle himself. Panicking would solve nothing, his father had taught him that. Everyone must’ve been devastated. He always hated seeing them hurt, in pain, alone. There was a weird sense of guilt within him, as if it were his fault for having died. He knew that wasn’t true, but his being would have him feel no other way.

Henry was tired of being naked, embarrassed even, despite the lack of prying eyes. He needed clothes, more specifically _his_ clothes. He needed to feel human, because at the moment he had no idea exactly what he was anymore. Perhaps a monster. Perhaps not. That didn’t matter at the moment, not until he found his family. Queens wasn’t too far away, he could walk it if he had too, though that was a bit disturbing. If the mortician had kept his wallet, the subway would be the better option. Late night Manhattan trains were sometimes questionable, but it would be a better option without question. He remembered seeing a bit of red and black in the trash been he had tried to use. Making his way over, the clothes were definitely his; an old, red button-down shirt and his old dress pants from high school band. Well orchestra. It was a complicated time for him. He was just glad when he found they still fit. Not so much anymore as he pulled it out. Both the shirt and the pants had remains of whatever the mortician had for lunch, not that it mattered. The articles of clothing were beyond use. They were caught in some explosion, some bomb, of course they weren’t. Henry looked over to the corpse but a few feet away. Aside from the white coat and apron coat, his clothes were relatively clean, and he indeed looked to be his size. He did his best to respect John as he disrobed him. He tossed the coat, and the apron. He noticed a few specks of blood on the collar of his vertical blue striped shirt. Nothing that would get reasonably noticed, and nothing he couldn’t explain away. He turned, took a step to the hallway, but looked back. That name card would be useful, as it looked like it had a magnetic strip. Henry couldn’t just leave his there either. The apron served as a make shift pillow, and the coat was draped over his head and body. That was the best he could do. Henry bowed his head to him, another twisted expression on his face, bid him farewell and a good afterlife, and left as quickly as he could.

* * *

The train was, more or less unavailable. He was still so thirsty, he didn’t know why. It was maddening, and he almost couldn’t resist the urge to bite into whoever he saw. Queens from New York wasn’t particularly unsafe aside from a few nasty neighborhoods here and there. It was apparent he was in one such area when he heard a scream from a nearby alley. Dark, of course, because alleys were _always_ dark. How else would you know if they shady? A woman, not too much older than Henry, stood back against a brick wall with three men surrounding her. They weren’t huge in comparison to other men, but they towered this poor lady. His do-gooder sense were tingling, and he couldn’t resist them with this damn excruciating thirst. No words were spoken as he walked up to the lot, they just snickered, sneered, and taunted their target until Henry was too close to ignore.

Who he assumed was the ring leader went to meet him face to face as his goons hung back, holding their positions just in case they needed to strike, “What’s a _kid_ like you doing in a place like _this_?” he asked, and his grunts chuckled as if he were clever.

Henry kept his blank and unmoving expression. He could do nothing else as he was trying to hold back the insatiable hunger he felt, “Do you hit on everyone like that, or just the ones you like?” the man before him did, in fact, _not_ think that was particularly clever either. He pulled back for a strike, and Henry braced himself for the blow. The blow certainly came, and it had most certainly struck home. He had felt the full force of it, yet it was like being slapped by a baby. The man’s own expression was one of priceless fear as he called his minions in to do what he could not, just like any other coward.

Their swings were pathetic too, and Henry was even able to catch one in his hand. _Fuckin’ sweet,_ he thought, _I feel like a super hero. I just hope people don’t mistake me for a plane, that would suck._ He wondered if he could twist goon #2 like they did in fiction. He could, and the cries of pain were particularly sweet to his ears. He wasn’t a sadist or anything, he just reveled in bad guys getting their dues. The other one struck Henry, carrying a resemblance to goon #2. Maybe a brother, but it didn’t matter. Henry found his fist shooting up with impossible speed to catch the second fist mid-flight. Once again, it worked. This was fucking amazing, _I guess death has its perks._ Oh, did they smell good. Well, not good, more like too much cheap liquor, but it was less a hygiene thing and more of a hunger thing, as weird as that was. He took the enhanced smell for granted at first, not truly noticing it at first until just now. He supposed it was another ‘perk’. This time he decided to press the first henchman into the wall just behind him but didn’t stop until his arm was compressed like a car at a junkyard. Those screams were even better. Goon #2, apparently not being smart enough to give up, though he would be able to get the jump on Henry. He was wrong. His hearing was enhanced now too, and he stepped to the side to allow both of them to crash into one another. They stayed there for a moment before Henry decided enough was enough and kicked the back of the first one’s head. There was a bit of a crack before he went limp. His back raised and lowered though, so he was still breathing. Then came the ‘boss’, though he would hardly call him as such. The man did his best to appear menacing, even lethal, but his knees were buckling beneath his own weight. All Henry had to do was step up and flick him in the nose. Oops, broken nose and a busted ass.

The young man, or undead, or superhero, or whatever turned to their would be target sitting against the wall, looking on the scene with horror. He wasn’t surprised when she, instead of taking his hand, ran away shrieking about a monster. Henry couldn’t say he was surprised, it wasn’t uncommon for ‘people’ like him to be feared. His shoulders shrugged, and he went along his way after reorienting himself. Home. He just needed to get home. Everything would be alright once he just got home.

 In the meantime, that big one, the one who was supposed to be in charge, looked entirely delicious, and not in the sexy way.

* * *

There was his house, finally. The trip between Manhattan and Queens shouldn’t have taken that long. Oh well, it didn’t matter now. He would have assumed he’d be stumbling down the street right about now, but no, he was just fine. Better than good even. Another perk of being so _special_ he assumed. Now he could relax, comfort his family, and maybe find some semblance of normal. Or maybe some food, he was still fairly hungry. Big boss man was a decent meal, but his blood was so _nasty_ from all the shit he must have put into his system on a regular basis. Not at all as tasty as he thought, Henry would have to work on spotting proper meals at some point.

This was it, his house, his childhood home. Technically his parents’ house, since the deed was theirs and all, but he was their son. He would always be welcomed. They loved him, right? He wasn’t so certain after everything had just transpired, but he had nowhere else to go. Henry figured himself to be a monster. More than that, a _vampire._ An honest, real life, blood sucking vampire. He was just he wasn’t sparkly, though he couldn’t help but notice that his skin was a tad bit paler now, not that he wasn’t pale before, but this was a new level of paleness. That might shock his family more than anything. The young man wondered what may have happened to his eyes. He was too shocked at the time to look in the morgue’s sole mirror, hanging on the wall by the door. Only brief glimpses, so either the silver backed mirror thing was bogus or it was simply a modern mirror. Not that it mattered right now of course, he had other, more important things to attend to.

In his gut was a wrenching storm. Not butterflies as everyone described it, including himself, but more like a hurricane. It was a new sensation. Perhaps it was part of being a vampire. He wasn’t even sure he believed it. This had to be some sort of dream, or nightmare, or _something._ Perhaps he would wake up. Then he realized that the whole dream idea was, most likely, a defense mechanism, let alone cliché. If there was anything he hated it, it was being cliché. He figured that would probably happen more often now.

Step followed step, almost in an automated state as he crept ever closer to that front door. He never knew why his parents had moved to a cul de sac. Henry had nothing against them, they simply always seemed weird to him. Such a waste of space. Deeper still, there was a fear. No, more like a concern, or even a reservation. ‘Safe’ neighborhoods felt like lies, like nothing bad could ever happen. Just like New Year’s Eve. Nothing so horrible could’ve possibly happened, and yet it did. He died, came back, and had already drank two people dry. He later realized that the mortician tasted a tad savory. Most likely city benefits¸ let alone all that business. Fine wine, fatty meats, the works. It was a wonder that he was still so _empty._ Not the kind where you feel like a hollow person devoid of hope and a future, no. This was a ravenous sensation, a need, a drive from deep within himself. He was always a hungry child, but this was a new level entirely.

Before he realized it, Henry was standing on the not at all new, but not at all old porch. Creaky in a few places, though hardy and stable. Memories ran through his head of him and his elder sister spending summer afternoons under an oppressive sun, relishing in any reliving cool they could find. Mom loved making lemonade with huckleberry. It was more like huckleberrymade, but that sounds weird. She never liked using non-words. ‘Irregardless’ disturbed her to no end. New words were all well and good of course, ther was just the small issue of the word contradicting itself. The prefix invalidates the rest of the word, essentially turning it into a ‘not word’ as she called it, so it means not regardless. It’s the opposite of what everyone means. She was always weird like that, but little quirks make the person, in more ways than one. They all hadn’t been together for a few days at most, so why did it feel like an eternity? Death probably had a way of doing that to people. Would his family even recognize him, maybe even recoil in horror?

Now he was actually intending on moving rather than just rely on autopilot but found that his legs were part of a statue. Apparently, he was the statue. Even his arms wouldn’t obey him. At the very least let him ring the damn doorbell. It turns out he wouldn’t have to, seeing the door open before him. Just beyond it stood his mother, father, and sister. Their faces were so worn, so tired. Had they been crying? He always hated seeing Laurel cry and this was no exception. Now his hand could move, making its way to grasp at his shirt, as if it would keep his heart from pounding through his chest. Mom had to actually prop dad up so he wouldn’t collapse, and Laurel’s hand raised to muffle a gasp. Henry could feel a sheepish smile spread across his lips, but his didn’t reflect it. He could also feel his shoulders melting into the rest of his form. Their son, her brother, had always done that when he was ashamed. At first, he wasn’t sure what of, but soon came to the conclusion that he was ashamed of leaving them, of hurting them to their very core, for leaving them. He found that he couldn’t shake it off. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t make that little, stupid, annoying little voice in the back of his skull— _it’s all your fault, you left them._ Trying to tell that voice otherwise was a fruitless endeavor.

“Hi mom, dad, Laurel… I’m home” then came something he didn’t expect, to be embraced by those dearest to him.

* * *

He couldn’t believe it. They just… sort of brought him inside, sat him down on the couch, and gave him a cup of hot cocoa. _What in the hell is going on, are they not phased by the **dead** returning to life? _Instead, they sat there, patient as Henry collected himself maybe to collected themselves as well. He couldn’t blame them. A sip of the cocoa was enough to warm his insides, if only a bit. He couldn’t complain, and he didn’t plan to. This had gone better than he had expected. His highest hope was that why would talk to him then ostracize him. He wasn’t the same Henry they knew. Right? Even his dog, who surely must at least smell the difference, returned to his side as a loyal companion, even if he didn’t realize that had not been a puppy for many years and in fact could not fit in anyone’s lap, much less Henry’s.

Finally, a word was spoken, “Henry”, it was his sister. That didn’t surprise him much that she’d speak first, her and her big mouth. She always cared, and he knew that she’d become a great mother just like she always wanted, “are you… ok?”

That took him off guard. Once again, he got the last thing he expected. He assumed they’d wonder where he’d been, or yelled at him for faking his death, or ask where his clothes went. No. Laurel wanted to know if he was alright, if he was _really_ alright, “I’m not entirely sure, L. Everything’s surreal right now” he said before taking another sip. It tasted great and all, but there was something wrong with the undertones, like it was lacking something important to the recipe. His mother prided herself on making her cocoa her damn self, despite her husband wanting the chocolate craze insanity to end. It never did.

“That’s understandable. Death is a wild experience” his dad spoke. His voice wasn’t particularly deep or loud, but it had an air of authority to it. He had no problem establishing himself wherever he went, and neither did mom. They made for a fantastic duo, like Batman and Batman.

Henry decided to poke a little, have some fun with this whole experience as he put it, “Oh, and you would know, pops?”

Simon laughed and shook his head, not willing to put in the effort of expanding upon anything he had said. It was a bad habit of sorts.

“And, well, do you feel any different?”

“Different?”

“Yeah, _different_ ” his mother assumed her kids would know what she meant, and fortunately they did for once.

“I do, actually” he responded “I don’t know how to explain it, but I feel faster, stronger, hungrier, er… well, I know I am.”

“Wait, you said _hungrier_?” mom said with a concerned emphasis, and Henry found himself surprised. They really were going along with this whole death thing. He went to say something, but was interrupted by a raised finger as she turned to her husband, “Did you call off dinner?”

“Yes, dear. I told them that Laurel wasn’t feeling well with everything going on”  
“Really, dad, you just had to throw me under the bus, didn’t you?”

He grinned again, “Of course I did, what else are dads for? No one is going to be upset with a grieving sister who lost her brother a few days ago!"

“Not so much anymore, I mean-” Laurel made a gesture in his general direction. The conversation was silent for only a moment before his mother continued, and Henry made sure to down some more cocoa, hoping the odd taste was some form of dehydrated dry mouth.

“You said hungrier, what exactly does that mean?”

Henry was nervous to answer now, for obvious reasons. How could he tell them of what he had become? Fortunately he wouldn’t have to answer as he was interrupted once more, but this time by a knock at the door. Tanto raised to sit on his haunches, a soft growl escaping his throat as he glared at the front of the house. You know its bad when dogs are upset. The door opened before anyone could get up to answer it. The gentle swing of it was unnerving considering the weight of it. Once again, his expectations did not match the reality of things. What he guessed would have come through the door was some monster who had caught his scent. Instead, there was a woman. A rather odd woman. Ignoring her almost Victorian dress in black, a veil covered her face and a matching black umbrella hung over her head. She was nearly the definition of American gothic. He took a second to note that there was something oddly alluring about her, but he dismissed as the sheer mystery of her.

“Hello and good evening, ladies and gentlemen-” one could barely see it, but she gave a sweetish smile behind her veil. There was something more behind it, but he somehow knew that the face value of it was authentic at the very least, “-might I come in?”

Simon eventually lifted himself from his chair, his wife Abby standing in turn, “I’m not sure who you are, Miss…?”

“Lady Benton, but you may call me Sola” another smile, just as genuine as the last,

“Sola, ok. Well, Sola, I’m not sure who you are, but asking for permission like some vampire” sweet heavens he said it “but you’ve already opened the door, so you may as well come in”

Tanto stepped from the couch, more curious than cautious now, though Henry could tell he was still assessing the situation. Lady Benton nodded, “Yes, perhaps, but I wanted to save you the trouble during this reunion, and I myself hold manners in high esteem” already Henry could tell something was off. She wasn’t speaking improperly, but it was reminiscent of some older time around the turn of the twentieth century.

“Come in then, I suppose” Simon directed her to a chair as she walked in, closing the door behind her with folded umbrella in hand.

“I do apricate it, Mister Horatio” more smiles from this one. She was a case indeed.

Abby interjected now, “Can I offer you something to drink? Let it never be said the Horatios don’t take care of their guests”

‘Sola’ gently raised a hand with an equally gentle shake of her head, “No, I’m quite alright, thank-” now she was the one interrupted, but by Henry. There was a truly sickening sensation where the raging storm had been but half an hour ago, and it required immediate attention. He was barely able to make it to the sink before the contents of his stomach forced its way up his throat. No red, oddly enough, only the brown of the cocoa. Even after he had cleansed his system of the stuff, his body was still sputtering and coughing from the ordeal. Labored breathing dominated his form as he hung over the sink.

Laurel was quick into action, hoping over whatever was in her way to her baby brother’s side, “ _Fuck,_ are you ok?” that was the second time she asked tonight, and that was the second time he was uncertain of the answer. Despite what had just transpired, he felt almost entirely better, like he just evicted something from his body that shouldn’t be there in the first place. It was just hot cocoa though, what on Earth could’ve made him so sick?

“Ah, that is to be expected from a newborn” Sola spoke again. _Newborn,_ what the hell did she mean by that? She stood stepping into the kitchen a she raised her veil. She most certainly beautiful, at least to Henry. She was pale, as pale as him which was concerning. He rich, earthy hair stood in a dignified bun just behind the top of her head, the kind you see in period films. Icy blue eyes pierced his being, gazing into his own.

“N-Newborn?” he was barely able to utter through a cough before unloading more into the sink. The gift that keeps on giving.

She stepped closer to him, placing a tender hand on his shoulder. It shifted, resting on his upper back. There were yet more sensations. His body released tension that he had no clue was even there, “Yes, my dear young Ekon. I’m certain you’ve had your suspicions of what you are since you awoke, what, early this evening?”

“Yeah, about two, maybe three hours? How did you know?”

His mother stepped in herself. She looked about ready to pounce on this intruder in a heartbeat, “Newborn? Ekon? What do you mean awoke?”

The good lady blinked in response, “He was reborn, of course. As a vampire”

There was that word again, but now it hit like a bombshell rather than just a cheap shot. Mom stood in silence, perplexed. Laurel was still focused on Henry, making sure he was stable. Dad plopped down into the nearest chair. His eyebrows furrowed, but that could have meant any number of things knowing him. There was a long stillness to everything. Lady Benton seemed content with it. She stood there, patient for someone to speak. This time Henry spoke up, finally standing straight.

“I… I guess I knew that. Everything lead to the assumption, but I was kind of hoping that wasn’t true”

Sola giggled, placing her hand on his shoulder again, “Dear boy, that’s quite normal. I had mixed feelings about my rebirth?”

Henry didn’t skip a beat, entering the ‘questioning phase’ as Sola liked to call it, “Why couldn’t I hold the hot chocolate down? Are we, I don’t know, like dogs?”

She had another giggle, this time from the analogy, “Oh no. We ekons simply can only process blood. Asking us to eat or drink anything else would be like asking a carnivore to eat fruit, or a cow meat”

The young man before her nodded in solemn understanding before looking to her again, “This is permanent” it was more of a statement rather than a question.  
“yes”

“Are we going to live forever, or do we die naturally at some point?”

A sigh made its way through her nose, “I’m honestly unsure. I’ve not met a vampire old enough to confirm either”

“Is there a difference between vampires and ekons?”

“Only in the way that all tortoises are turtles, but no all turtles are tortoises. There are… namely three main varieties, essentially three subspecies that each have their own unique, shall we call them, ‘characteristics’”

Henry was going to continue with more questions, but Abby stepped her foot down as to get a word in, “Who the hell are you? You walk in here, all suave and smugness” Lady Benton was taken aback, placing a hand to her chest, “You expect us to just trust you or something?”

“Of course you should trust me, I’m his progenitor”

“What?” there was yet again another period of silence before Abby made her way to claw the woman’s eyes out. Simon sprung from his chair just in time to hold her back.

Sola carried on as if they were having an entirely normal conversation, and didn’t seem to notice, “By progenitor I mean creator, I turned him”

Henry’s mother shook her way out of Simon’s grasp, too pissed to be kind about it, but not enough to forsake him altogether., “I _know_ what it means. What I’m wondering is. Why in the fuckin’ hell” she did love her swearing, “you killed my son, my _baby_ ” she was struggling to hold back tears at this point, her eyes glassy pools as a lone tear journeyed down her cheek.

“I think you misunderstand. I created him after he died in that explosion. Once the process was complete, all I had to do was wait. I had one of my people watch the undertaker’s office for when Henry awoke”

“I knew you looked familiar!” cried out Laurel, “I saw you at the restaurant! I never saw your face, but I know I saw that dress and veil”

This evoked a smile from Sola, turning to Laurel, “Yes, quite so. I knew you were smart, same as your brother here”

Henry shook himself a bit in order to expel the last of the sickness, “Why me, though? Was it random chance, were you following me?”

“I-” she paused, looking between the siblings, “-that is a complicated answer for another day. Know that I’ve had my eye on you for quite some time.” She raised her hand again, but this time to stop Henry from speaking before he began, “No, I didn’t set the bomb off. That was…” she trailed off again, this time looking out the kitchen window into the darkness beyond, “tragic, truly. Humans are still people after all, they deserve respect just as we vampires do”

Everyone stood again in silence. No one could think of anything to say. How would they? This was all so totally insane. Vampires, death, rebirth, twenty something year old newborns. It still, somehow, felt like reality however. There was no escaping this, just as there was no escaping the explosion. Questions were being raised faster than they could be answered. For now, all they needed was a heading, a course of action to follow. Henry had a feeling he inadvertently got his family caught up in a world of nightmares. This couldn’t be happening, but it most certainly was.

Henry shrugged, speaking now “Considering all of this, whatever _this_ is, what now? What do I do with my ‘condition’? Do I keep on living my life as it was?” the question hung in the air, “Well, I suppose it would be keep on deathing in my unlife”

“You definitely have an odd sense of vocabulary, young man” another smile, this time shone directly to him. There was something knowing about it, bordering on patronizing. At the same time, it was entirely respectful, and even caring in a way.

“Lady Benton-”

“ _Sola,_ dear. Sola” something about all the names and the sweettalk and gentle words to her son rubbed Abby the wrong way. She knew it was best to stay quiet, however, and bide her time when the situation was more sorted out and understandable. Everything was a whirlwind at this point with no exit sign. She could really do with an exit sign.  

“Right, Sola, what do you want with me?”

With that she perked up a bit as if she were a kid excited by the prospect of candy, “I was hoping you’d ask, Henry. You’re, how shall we say, special. I can’t say how, but I just feel it”

“That’s comforting, really”

“I suppose I’ll just have to get used to the sarcasm” she said with a giggle. Sola’s expression turned quickly. It appeared stoic, but almost distraught at the same time. Henry thought it was not unlike how vampires are both living and dead at the same time. He really hoped he wouldn’t have to become sully self-contradiction, “Trouble stirs in our world of the undead, young ekon. I will need all the aid I can get”

“And my aid will be, what, being special?”

“If you like. We’ll need to show you the ropes first. It would be improper for a vampire not to guide their progeny, and now is your most vulnerable time as a vampire, especially an ekon” Henry at this point was really hoping he’d learn the actual definition of ekon. It sounded impressive, whatever it is. Well, whatever _he_ is.

“Will you take Henry?” Simon asked, “We thought he was dead three days ago, please, just give us a little time”

Lady Benton hummed, looking around, “Yes, this would be quite a nice household to stay in”

“Excuse me?” now it was Abby with the questions”

“I do not wish to take him from you, but I _cannot_ leave him, especially not now. He needs to be cared for, nurtured, taught how to be a proper ekon. It comes with certain responsibilities”

Abby was irritated as ever, no, frustrated and quite nearly infuriated. In her eyes, this woman popped into their life after transforming their son as if nothing were wrong. In her eyes, she was trying to steal him from her. She couldn’t let that stand. Still, she bided her time. In a way, she trusted this Sola. Abby could feel the truth in her words. All she wants is what’s best for her son, and she’ll be damned if some vampire and whoever else decided to walk through their door harms him.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. What in the actual hell was going on? “Fine, there’s a guest room. Upstairs, door before last on the left” she looked this strange woman up and down, wearing god knows what, “Will you need to borrow any clothes or…?”

“Oh no, that won’t be necessary, but I apricate the hospitality” her thanks was almost naïve, like she didn’t notice Abby’s reaction to anything. Without another word, she left the room, and Henry hear the front door open and shut a moment later. Meanwhile, he remembered Tanto, looking to the couch to see if he was alright. Sleeping like log, a very twisted, curled pretzel of a log. When Sola returned, she did so with a suitcase in hand, one of the old-fashioned ones with a handle to hold it horizontally. Henry always thought they weighted half ton, and could take a man’s fingers off if slammed. At least that’s what he had gathered from his grandfather’s luggage.

“Prepared, aren’t you?” Abby asked.

“I do my best, it pays to be prepared! Now, Henry, rest up and rejoice with your family that you’re home safe. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, there’s work to be done” Lady Benton was a polite one, but not in the passive aggressive stance many took. She was truly the person she appeared to be, but one always felt there was something more. At the foot of the stairs before trekking up, she gave Henry one last look saying “I truly am glad you’re well. Everyone deserves a family. I hope that you’ll become a part of mine as well” and with that ascended to what was to be her room for the next few days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this work, please leave kudos and comments! I'll make content regardless, but it's encouraging, motivating, and makes me want to work that much harder. Your support is more invaluable than you know!


	2. Living Situation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry has to adapt to his new 'life', but how easy will that be? Is he up to the challenge? Could he just be able to relax for once? Is that too much to ask? How will the good Lady Benton integrate into his life, if at all? Find out on this episode of...
> 
> The Horatio Chronicles!
> 
> This is the same as the work of the same title, however, as I was new, I was still learning my way around. All updates from her on out shall be in THIS work.

Nothing odd here. Just a woman, maybe early thirties at most, sitting at the kitchen table, dressed in black turn-of-the-century attire. Sucking on some sort of plastic bag, small, a tad round, and filled with some sort of crimson. Blood. Of course it was. Nothing odd whatsoever. She greeted the young man with a content, mostly innocent smile. It curled the bag to the shape of her lips, little ripples of blood forming here and there as the bag contracted and scrunched. Slurping may or may not have been involved.

Exhausted, Henry collapsed into his usual spot. In sight of the TV for entertainment (sometimes distraction, Uncle Glen does love to drone on and on about, well, drones), but also in reach of every possible conversation at the table. He aimed for a nice balance between the modern era and valued family time. They preferred the background noise anyhow, but for them it was more a matter of willpower to focus on dinner than the boob-tube, but the ability to zone out of awkward family discussions was a god send. So to speak. It had been a difficult night. More like a difficult few days, the ones he couldn’t process, let alone remember. He still couldn’t quite get over his own death, and rebirth, but most wouldn’t blame him for that. Many would also imagine the whole rebirth thing a lot differently. Rebirth was usually the realm of reincarnation, not total fiction. Well, he had to accept vampires as fact now, otherwise he himself didn’t exist. Maybe that would’ve been for the better at this point, but he’d cross—or burn—that bridge when he got to it.

“Would you like some?” she asked Henry. Sola was a little too cheery for how early in the morning it was. He noted her aversion to any light coming in the windows with little surprise, which concerned him since it meant this was all starting to become _normal_ to him.

His brain wracked and heaved for a response, a process entirely too complex for a yes or no answer. In the end, he settled with giving a gentle “no” with pursed lips. Henry was stiff, too stiff, yet another thing not odd in the slightest. With a stretch he found out just why she was hiding away in the morning shadows when his hand was unlucky enough to get caught in a beam of sunlight. There was a stinging sensation, followed by a deep, underlying burn that you get when you touch something that was hotter than you would expect, so hot that it feels cold. It was piercing to his core, or that’s how it felt to him. He thought of the stove, when he propped himself on an arm to reach into the cabinet, only to find that his sister had recently made herself lunch. Fortunately, Laurel had already started medical school, and was able to treat the burn, preventing infection and scarring, much to his relief. That scar’s gone now, taken away by his new condition no doubt. The current experience was all that, but far, far more agonizing, the blistering heat of a thousand suns. Henry didn’t find the muffled giggle coming from the opposite side of the table amusing. There was something about her face, however, that was still almost unreasonably sweet. He didn’t know whether to be comforted or irate, and he dropped it all together rather than deal with the mess of it.

Groggily he looked about, a hand to his eye to clear out the so-called sleep sand. It must have been ten, perhaps ten thirty, maybe even eleven. No one seemed to be awake, which was definitely unprecedented. Everyone was always one step ahead of him by the time he woke up, so prepared and cheery and not at all a grouch that was not at all made for the morning. Absolutely infuriating. He couldn’t hold the irritation within himself, and after a while, he made a point to mention their absence, asking Lady Benton where they were.

“Work and school I believe, dear” she said.

“Wait, really? What day is it?’

Sola took a moment, tapping her chin once or twice as she recalled the information “Wednesday, why-” she stopped herself before finishing the question, “-ah, yes. I experienced the same disorientation when I was a newborn. Primarily with words. My mind jumbled the letters. Bowl was lowb, fork as korf, spoon as noops, horse hroes, and so on”

Henry had to hold back laughter through lips, “Seriously?”

For the first time, Henry would’ve sworn that he saw her make a face that wasn’t at all cheerful, but instead a pout. Even then, the pout lacked any menacing message or aura, “I don’t apricate the laughter, young man, and there are people who deal with that sort of trouble on a daily basis. It would be wise to pay them some due respect, even in their absence”

“Yes, ma’am” That young man found himself straightening for some reason, almost to attention. Odd, considering he had never served, but that was a mere curiosity compared to the vast wonders of the past several days. Not like he remembered them anyhow.

“Um-” he looked around once more before sitting down, a bit at lost as to just what he was supposed to eat for breakfast now. There was a hunger brewing in his stomach, indicated by a gurgle or two, which wasn’t appreciated either. It struck him he couldn’t have his ritual morning bowl of cereal like he used to. Saturday cartoons were out of fashion, but that’s why it paid to own the classics on bluray. Was there a vampire version of cereal? Vampiri-oh’s? Henry, however, had to give in to her experience once more, “-do you have another or…?”

The good Lady Benton was more than happy to oblige, placing an identical bag across from her. Henry gingerly picked it up, almost like one of those wiggly water toys you can get at mom and pop shops. She took her bag from her lips, a few drops resting upon them before she cleaned them away with a swipe of her tongue, in order to show her progeny how she drank from the bags herself, “Like this. The IV tubing connection at the bottom, or the top in this case. Otherwise meals can become difficult to get a handle on and lead to an awful mess. Trust me, it’s rather embarrassing to be caught licking ruby off any surface, let alone a table or counter top” she stifled yet another giggle before going back to the bag in her hands. Calling it ruby struck Henry as, well, different as everything else. A little weird too on that note. He could feel that it was a casual tone, as if forgetting the blood came from a living being, a person who could very well be dead now. Perhaps she didn’t like referring to it as blood so she could feel more civil. There was a chill throughout his spine, but he did his best to ignore both it and the reality of the situation. He guessed that he had to in order to keep his sanity for the time being. When he was older it may become far less of a problem, but that was long to come.

 Picturing a proper lady such as herself licking a table top for a few drops of blood off the countertops was amusing, but he did as she instructed, using his teeth to cautiously tear the tubing. A little blood spurted out, not unlike a yogurt tube, and he did his best to lick the spillage from both the bag and his fingers. Lady Benton looked on, silently admiring him without his notice in the way a parent does when their child stumbles successfully through all the hurdles life puts in front of them. She was sure athletes would disagree with labeling stumbled hurdles as successful, but it was the thought that counted she supposed. The freshness of his experience, this stage of learning—she missed it. The whole thing was nostalgic. She had always wished to be a mother as well. In a way he _was_ her son. Not that she intended on stealing him from his family, let alone his mother. She intended to keep this all a secret, of course, her own little pleasure of an illusion she could let herself indulge in every now and then. Was this what it was like to have a child? Watching them grow and learn with a sense of pride, knowing that you guided them there? Sola was content with that for now. It was nigh impossible for a vampire to conceive a child. Parenthood was indeed possible, but she had no feasible path to it for now.

Henry ravenously slurped away as she thought on. The sensation was almost otherworldly, and he found himself growing more and more rabid in his consumption. He nearly lashed out at the tender hand upon his arm, encouraging him to slow down and collect himself, which he eventually did. The whole thing was alarming. He didn’t feel like himself, and he began to admit a truth he had been hiding away for his own sake. Now Henry was acknowledging his fear. Fear of the future, fear of what is, but most of all, fear of what he had become. All of that seemed so intertwined, so inseparable. For him, the past, present, and future were blending together with no mind to stop any time soon. He was pulled back to his senses by a gentle hand on his shoulder and a tender voice.

“Henry, dear” the voice spoke, and he looked up to see Lady Benton still there. He wasn’t sure why exactly, in the back of his brain, he thought she was gone. Not gone in the sense of having left, but as if she disappeared with a subtle magic trick. It may have been a self-preservation mechanism, needing to believe this all a dream, “slow down. There’s no need to rush. We’re civilized creatures, no?” she had a point he supposed. A vampire succumbing to their primal urges seemed a poor plan. She continued on, talking about how vampires eventually gain more control over these ‘urges’. He held back a scoff at the word, it was a pale descriptor. The whole thing would take work, however, and a little patience. A piece meal plan no less. He was younger, not only as a vampire, but as a human, and he needed to be more or less patient. Sola also touched on how she would be there to guide him. Some ekons abandon their newborns, otherwise known as the recently turned, with little to no. This wasn’t the standard, and it was commonly agreed upon that the behavior was appalling. Not everyone adhered to this obviously, but she insisted that she stay by his side for the time being. She was almost forceful in tone, which somewhat startled Henry. It didn’t seem like her, but he could easily have figured her wrong, he couldn’t be certain. Not a pleasant thing, uncertainty, tends to stoke one’s fears, also not a pleasant thing.

The rest of the morning was pretty straight forward. He felt like the new guy at his first day work that was learning the ropes. All very simple once learned, but there was always so much to take in. The do’s and don’ts, general but unspoken vampire rules (he wouldn’t have guessed they had any), what generally can and cannot kill you, even tooth-care. Fangs needed to be maintained, if for no other reason than health concerns. She was very stringent on the matter, nearly as much as all the rest, especially in technique. Short, round circles around the teeth and gums, making sure to get all the nooks and crannies. Blood was difficult enough to clean out of clothes, but it could stain teeth if one wasn’t careful. Lady Benton really was made to be a mother, a nurturer. Made to be a vampire would be more accurate considering the given circumstances. Besides, it paid to keep up appearances.

Henry wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen next. This had all shown such insanity over and over and over again. He had no clue when it would end either, a more than troubling thought. A pit, deep at the base of his stomached grew. What if it never ends? What if his unlife would be like this until he died… again? Could he die again in the first place? He had to know, he needed the truth. There was no reason to believe that she would lie to him. So far, she seemed trustworthy, honest, good on her word. It may have been more of a surface trust, face value, but it was better than nothing. Henry had no choice anyhow, as she was his best—and only—hope for survival. Nothing particularly dangerous had occurred in respect to the recent turn of events, yet he had a foreboding feeling, deep in his gut. There was something to come. He couldn’t explain what exactly, he just knew.

Now was the time. He willed his soul into an iron, determined state of will. Perhaps a bit melodramatic for the morning, but he felt entitled to a little leeway at the moment. He _would_ get answers, “Sola? I have to ask… will it always be like this?”

She simply cocked her head in response, “It?”

“Y’know, _it_ ”

Her face appeared just puzzled as her mind. It seems vampires aren’t telepathic, thank fucking… invoking God’s name at this point seemed odd. The universe put him in this position, so he figured it would do. Eventually a lightbulb lit, her face shining, “Well, the new _It_ was certainly an… interesting picture, though I personally prefer the orig-”

His hands went up almost immediately, “No, no, no. That’s not what I meant, like at all”

“Oh. **Oh**. You mean your new unlife?”

That word came off her tongue a little too naturally for his liking, but he decided to let it pass in favor of his true goal, “Yeah, our unlife or whatever. Do we live forever? Do we just live _way_ longer than normal?”

Sola took a deep breath, then sighed. Prim and proper, her hands laid together in front of her after placing the blood bag to lean against the lip of the saucer she took the liberty of using. A few seconds passed, but she had yet to answer. Instead, she was just looking him over, or more aptly his face from what he could trace of her gaze.

“I’m not entirely certain. We’re often so spread out it’s hard to get any definitive information. Well, there’s a friend of mine, a doctor, very kind. He’s spent his unlife treating not only mortals, but us vampires too. Even to this day he’s dedicated to the study of our kind, _all_ our kind, not just the Ekons. Even has a book about it all”

“Alright-” Henry said with a nod, more neutral than anything else, “-but that didn’t answer any of my questions- ** _wait what do you mean not just Ekons_** ”

“We’ll cover that on a later date. Let’s call it the more ‘advanced’ course. This is Vampirism 101, but your questions are still tricky to answer, my dude”

Well _that_ caught him off guard. ‘My dude’, seriously? My dude? Where did she even learn that? “Uh… my dude?”

She nodded herself now, but with more confusion. That seemed to be the theme of the day, “Yes… did I use it improperly? I apologize, the centuries are hard to keep up with. The jumbled accumulation of slang over the centuries in my head doesn’t help but-” he had to stop her there. That seemed to be a theme too.

“No, you used it correctly, it was just surprising I guess”

“Understandable, my dear newborn”

He was a grown man, but alright, “It’s whatever. Just keep going, yeah?”

She gave a bit of a huff, but carried on nevertheless, “Well, I’m not sure if we have what you would call a natural lifespan. We are very much unnatural creatures, and therefor don’t inherently fall beneath the realms of reason and logic.”

“But this friend of yours, I thought he was studying us? Like a scientist? Reason and logic are kinda their deal” she liked the sound of that word, _us_ , and it was especially pleasing to hear from Henry.

“That’s true, but he has brought that with him into our realm, and for the better I would say. He’s only been an Ekon as long as I, give or take, perhaps a bit younger. I’m up to date on all his published knowledge, namely his _Bestiary on the Family Morticame_. Excellent work, however he refuses to answer my letters whenever I suggest changing that dreadful name, the scoundrel! Bestiary, bah! We are more than your common animal I would hope!” a frown danced across her face, more in irritation than anger or sorrow. One could never describe Lady Sola of being impassive, of that Henry was certain.

“If this sciencey friend of yours knows so much, why no info on our lifespan?”

“It’s simple—no vampire has ever died naturally, at least in respect to recorded accounts of such an event. None whatsoever. Either they disappear or are slain. There’s no recorded case of a vampire dying in their sleep if that’s what you’re asking” That meant he wouldn’t need to worry about old age, fantastic! Well, it would be if no for a premature death of some sort. He’d prefer that to becoming a hermit in any case.

There was an odd silence that followed, neither knew what to say next. Henry had run dry of questions. Not at all an uncomfortable silence, but certainly something new, something deep he couldn’t put his finger on. More than just eye contact, they could feel one another’s gaze, like little rays of light. No, a poor analogy in undeath. Warmth. Yes, warmth fit better. Soothing almost as they studied every little feature, every crease, scar, and curve of their faces. A bridge of sorts. One of those weird hippie spirit bridges or something, Henry thought he heard it on TV once.

A ringing made its way to his ears, though something about it was odd. The ringing wasn’t audible. It was in his ears, he was sure of that much, though it felt like no other ringing he had felt. Then it hit him that it was his own heartbeat, not ringing, but pumping and pounding. The fibers of his heart each sent their own signals to the brain. Or at least that’s what it felt like, electricity bouncing around in his chest. Beating, pressing, toiling to keep him alive. That was an odd thought, let alone realization. His heart was pounding, but why? He was _dead_! Ugh, no, _undead_. He despised that technicality. Aside from the whole _I can no longer consume anything but blood, look sickly, and can’t be exposed to direct sunlight without extreme pain_ thing was rearing its head far too often. That was when the energy began subsiding, both parties returning to the status quo, as confused as it might be. His focus had waned and slipped away in his little sidetrack. He expected a gaping void left in wake of such an experience, but rather found the opposite. Glowy, ironically enough. He felt _glowy._ Henry had no idea what that meant, but there it was. Had it been the same for her? What was that? What was all of _this_? Was he going crazy? Maybe just having a bad dream? His hand slipped beneath the table, reaching to give his leg a pinch. Yep, definitely hurt, definitely painful with the new super strength. He never understood the pinching thing anyhow. If it were a dream, a dream pinch felt as real as anything else inside the dream, what good would it do? It didn’t really matter at this point. Perhaps the two resembled one other more than he had originally thought.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this work, please leave kudos and comments! I'll make content regardless, but it's encouraging, motivating, and makes me want to work that much harder. Your support is more invaluable than you know!


End file.
